


Tears

by Jrade



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crying, F/F, Mentions of miscarriage, Missions, Sarcasm, Teasing, i'd say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-05 20:53:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13396020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jrade/pseuds/Jrade
Summary: Another installation in Just Angst January - today's prompt was, quite simply put, "Tears". I hope you enjoy my offering. This is considered part of my Spiderbyte series, aaand one of these days I'll stop being lazy and I'll actually make it a series.Warnings: Angst! That's the point, heh, but it's not pointless. That is to say, I think you'll find the angst is well-seated and well-rooted in plot; it would hardlyhurtotherwise, eh? XDAlso, mentions of baby death/miscarriage and death generally, because, well, Widowmaker. Hard to have something with her and not have death, no?





	Tears

**Author's Note:**

> Another installation in Just Angst January - today's prompt was, quite simply put, "Tears". I hope you enjoy my offering. This is considered part of my Spiderbyte series, aaand one of these days I'll stop being lazy and I'll actually make it a series.
> 
> Warnings: Angst! That's the point, heh, but it's not pointless. That is to say, I think you'll find the angst is well-seated and well-rooted in plot; it would hardly _hurt_ otherwise, eh? XD
> 
> Also, mentions of baby death/miscarriage and death generally, because, well, Widowmaker. Hard to have something with her and not have death, no?

Another night, another mission; Sombra didn’t really mind, although she did have a couple of episodes of a show she’d been hoping to be able to get through.

To her credit, she hadn’t let being on a mission _stop_ her from watching them - but it was different to see something on a little display in the corner of your vision while running a mission, and to see it on a nice big holoscreen while sitting on the couch. Preferably with some popcorn and soda.

Company, too.

For instance, the company of a certain chilly blue sniper who Sombra had been involved with for a fair while now.

“How come these things always gotta happen at _night?_ ” She complained softly over the radio, sighing as she made her way through the halls.

“Because,” Widowmaker’s voice answered her query, loaded with subtle sarcasm - as ever. “It matches the uniforms.”

Sombra rolled her eyes, silently miming a mocking laugh but with a genuine grin underneath the gesture. “Yeah, sure,” she shot back, “but this would be way better spent on a couch with some popcorn, am I right? What do you say I come over to your place after this and we make it happen, eh _amiga?”_

She liked their little movie nights, their little chats, their little games. Running missions, kissing - sometimes both at the same time. The way that sometimes Widowmaker would push her up against a wall and hiss into her ear. She liked lots of stuff about it all.

Most of all, though, what she was finding was that when it all came down to the end, she just liked Widowmaker.

 

\---

 

The sniper let out a slow breath through her nose, visor down and locked - she saw Sombra’s thermal signature through the walls, and saw the guards as well. This was, however, a stealth mission, so she had been instructed to leave them alive.

If possible.

She did ever _hope_ it wouldn’t prove to be so, but for the time being, the members of the security team remained. Drawing breath in futility as they always did, as if they could escape death.

Stealth had its advantages and its draws, but to her it was very much a set-up; lacking a punchline, one could hardly call it a joke. Lacking an ending, one could hardly call it a whole story.

“I would say to that, that you are _constantly_ inviting yourself over to my place,” she muttered in response to Sombra’s query, and she watched the hacker’s thermal outline stop in the hallway, turn to face her, and shrug.

“Well yeah, but you’re not saying _no,_ that’s my point.”

Widowmaker smirked, tipping her head slightly to the side but saying nothing.

Sombra continued walking, swiftly - she made her way with haste, but wasn’t sprinting. For once.

Widowmaker knew she could have left it there, and there was a time she certainly would have. A time that she would have left Sombra hanging, _waiting,_ and she would have grinned at the thought.

In fact, she did, for another moment or two. Let the silence hang and swell, and got a pleasant little thrill from the idea that Sombra was waiting on her, before she spoke.

“I suppose you _do_ have a safehouse in the area, don’t you?”

Sombra stopped in the hallway again and Widowmaker softly rolled her eyes, picturing the grin that was surely spreading across the hacker’s lips - even though it was softly mirrored on her own.

A second later, Sombra’s face popped into one of the lenses of Widowmaker’s visor. Sure enough, she was grinning. Grinning and leaning back against the wall, the mission seemingly forgotten for a moment as she raised an eyebrow to the screen. “You just invite yourself over to _mi casa, amiga?”_

“Hardly,” Widowmaker scoffed, panning her rifle to the side to investigate the next wing of the complex. The mansion. “I was only stating that it could provide an alternate location.”

The grin on Sombra’s lips widened. “Oh, oh yes, it could. Getting serious here, _cariño -_ I’ll be giving you a key soon enough.”

“I regret this already,” Widowmaker growled softly with a shake of her head, drawing a soft laugh from Sombra - she spoke quietly to avoid giving away her position too much, and she kept her laugh reigned in as well, leaving it light and breathy. Lacking its normal fullness and warmth, which was a shame, but then again it _was_ a stealth mission so it was a good plan.

She was being generally impressive tonight. Widowmaker wondered if there was some special event - or if, perhaps, and far more _likely_ , Sombra had done something wrong. Some error or mistake she’d made for which she felt she needed to apologize, and wished to mollify Widowmaker ahead of time.

That was quite likely. The assassin’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“What have you done _this_ time?”

 

\---

 

Sombra left her screen up as she pushed off of the wall, a chuckle immediately answering Widowmaker’s flat and unamused inquiry. “What? Whatcha talking about, _chica?”_

“You are being… different,” Widowmaker responded over the radio. “Pause before the next door for a patrol. You are being precise and cautious, quiet and… for lack of a better word, good, at this.”

 _“Good?”_ Sombra gasped, aghast, one hand flying to her chest in shock as she stilled her footsteps. She heard a security guard walking on the other side of the door, shaking her head at the screen with an open grin and staying totally silent to avoid drawing attention.

When the footsteps were gone on the other side of the door, she continued walking quietly.

“I said for lack of a better word,” Widowmaker deflected with what sounded very much like a smirk.

“Yeah, for lack of a better word, and then you said that me being _good_ was shocking and unexpected!”

“You are trying to distract from the issue in question.”

“Pfft,” Sombra rolled her eyes, letting the screen drop. “Yeah right. No, _you’re_ just trying to distract from the fact that you don’t think I’m good at my job, despite the fact that I _always_ get what I want out of the mission, and I-”

Her words cut off as a hand grabbed her from behind; Sombra instinctively yanked her machine pistol out of its holster, pressing it up against the person’s temple as they pushed her back against the wall.

As she realized who it was, though - those golden eyes sending a nice little jolt to her core like they always did - she sighed and dropped the weapon. “Jesus, _amiga,_ I almost shot you.”

“Nonsense,” Widowmaker scoffed derisively, softly, shaking her head. “You would need to move much faster than that.” She rolled one shoulder in a shrug, tipping her head to the side, still pinning Sombra back against the wall and leaning in for a quick but deep kiss. _“Mais,_ you are improving.”

The assassin let go, stepping back and flicking her visor down, giving the surroundings a quick scan before she fell into step beside Sombra, the pair of them walking down the long hallway side-by-side. An intricate rug running down the centre muffled their footsteps, which would otherwise have been quite sharp against the marble floors - Widowmaker’s particularly.

“There is a difference between accomplishing _your_ goals on a mission, and _accomplishing the mission,_ Sombra,” Widowmaker murmured gently. “Tonight you are being very careful about the latter rather than the former, which is unexpected.” She wasn’t planning on admitting that she didn’t consider it nearly as much of a bad thing as she once had. “I would have expected the alarms off by now - or at least the guards to have been aroused by your presence.”

Sombra grinned, flicking a furtive glance over to the tall, stately sniper. “Well I _do_ have an arousing presence, thanks _chica,”_ she murmured thoughtfully, grinning wider at the irate-but-amused look which Widowmaker shot her. “But I figured I’d give it a pass tonight.”

Another look, this one speculative, with Widowmaker’s eyebrows drawing in tight for a moment. “And what is so special about _tonight,_ hmm?”

Sombra shrugged easily. “Movie night. First night having my _chica_ over to my place - or at least, _this_ place - I don’t wanna blow it. That’s all.”

Again, Widowmaker stopped her, taking hold of her shoulder for a moment and turning her, studying her with those intense golden eyes. A slight frown on her lips, moonlight falling on half her face. Then, the frown shifted to a smile as Widowmaker stepped back.

“Ahhh,” she hummed, sounding pleased. “So, it _is_ the anniversary, then. I was not certain that you would remember. A year now, has it not been?”

Sombra snickered. “What, since we started hooking up? Yeah, I guess. Something like that.”

“No. Not since _that.”_

The hacker’s eyes flicked over, just for a second, but Widowmaker was still looking straight ahead. She didn’t look over, didn’t react - but Sombra could tell that she knew.

It wasn’t _just_ the night they’d started hooking up, because that all had been inspired by something. Most particularly, Sombra nearly dying from a bullet embedded in her back. The thought of it - the pain and terror, being unable to move or even _feel_ her legs - had her mouth drying out, and she swallowed, but didn't speak.

“I have been worried as well.”

Sombra’s eyes shot over again, fixed on Widowmaker’s face, but it was as flat and inscrutable as ever, despite her words.

She’d learned a lot about the assassin in a year, a lot about reading her, about what was true and what was a facade, but she couldn’t tell quite how Widowmaker was on the inside at that moment.

She shrugged, chuckling softly, deflecting with humour as she often did.. “Pfft, sure. Like I’d be worried about that - nah, it’s just that my place isn’t too messy right now and I don’t want to set an unrealistic precedent for you. That’s all.”

Widowmaker hummed, tipping her head back in a single drawn-out nod. “Ahh. Of course. Only that.”

They’d learned a fair bit about each other, and dealing with each other, over their time together. Things had evolved between them, but it was like a dance - moments of intense shifts and action, and then longer periods of slow circling, gentle patterns.

Sombra felt a little better, though, to know that Widowmaker had been concerned as well - it was good to know that her _chica_ was on the lookout, and it also made _her_ feel a little less stupid for her own worries.

Widowmaker was just glad that Sombra remembered it all enough to be paying more attention. The idea that she might be taken away in an instant was an entirely unpleasant one, and one which the assassin felt ire rising at every time it occurred to her.

They walked a little closer together, though, as they went down the hallway - brushing elbows as they made their way. Closer than they needed to be, yes, but not any closer than they wanted.

 

\---

 

Widowmaker crouched in front of the lock, Sombra standing on her shoulders. “Must you?” She sighed, shaking her head slightly - her ponytail nudged against Sombra’s leg as she did. It was all quite awkward.

“Unless you wanna go find a stepstool? Yeah, I must. Now shh and get picking, this place is creepy as fuck and I wanna get out quick.” The hacker’s hands were stretched over her head and far out to the sides, each one barely touching a metal hemisphere - there were two of them, one on each side of the door.

“If you had bothered to grow to a _proper height_ , we would not be having this problem,” the assassin growled as she stroked with the pick, keeping tension on the barrel of the lock with the flat in her other hand.

“I’m tall for _Mexico,_ alright? Stupid tall sexy French ladies, messing with the averages.”

“Three-quarters of the way to a compliment - I am almost impressed, _cherie,”_ Widowmaker grinned. The fourth tumbler held and she moved on to the fifth, keeping her body as perfectly still as she could. She knew that if Sombra’s hands slipped from the orbs for even an instant, the lock would attempt to close up - when it was barred by the picks in the way, the alarms would go off, and the whole night would change.

As much as she appreciated the developments which had come about from the events of that night a year ago, she had no wish to re-undertake that _risk._

“Stop twitching,” she muttered up to the hacker.

“Your head is between my legs and has been for a _really_ long time,” Sombra protested in a hiss, “you’re lucky I’m even _sentient_ right now.”

“Control yourself,” Widowmaker groaned with a roll of her eyes. Then, though, her lips quirked into a smirk as her eyes flicked upward - she couldn’t solve the lock by looking at it anyway. “Control yourself,” she repeated softly, purring, “or _I_ will need to control you.”

Sombra groaned, her head falling forward lightly to lean against the door. “Ugh, not funny, _amiga._ Keep that shit in mind for when we get back to my place though.”

 _“Oui,_ but of course - how else will I ensure we do not spend the night watching a terrible movie? I must take control and choose it myself.” She grinned triumphantly, at the thought as well as the fact that the fifth tumbler had hung up. She tapped at the sixth, slid it up slowly, and the lock twisted open.

“Clear,” she sighed as the door swung open a few inches - its well-oiled hinges didn’t squeak in the slightest.

Sombra grunted, shaking her head as she dropped down lightly to her feet. “What kind of paranoid bastard makes it so two of his omnic servants need to float up to the ceiling in order to unlock the door to his bedroom?”

An almost-delighted grin held Widowmaker’s lips. Delighted for her, at least. “Why, the sort who is worried he might be robbed by an international terrorist organization, _cherie._ ”

With a single chuckle, Sombra tipped her head in concession before stepping over to the desk. “Alright, I’ll grab the stuff - watch out for a bit. Won’t be five minutes.”

Widowmaker nodded once, tapping her visor down into place and turning away. The man in question, a high-level researcher with a private firm dabbling in medical, security, weapons - just about everything, really, as the super-corporations did these days - was away on business. Nobody home save for his guards and his servants.

Sombra made hardly any noise while rifling through his desk and filing cabinets, and the small personal data server he kept here - behind firewalls, separate from any network. A person would need to be here in person in order to access its contents. Hence, their presence.

Thermals signatures through the walls showed the guards all at their posts, none acting out of the ordinary in any way - electromagnetic imaging showed the same for the omnics, servants and security alike. The alarm systems were in place, the electric fence outside humming, all was going well.

A soft noise drew Widowmaker’s attention, over to the side of the room - a small thermal signature confused her for a second as she walked cautiously that way, lifting her visor to look with her own eyes.

There was a crib pushed up to the side of the room, and in that crib - as one might expect - was a baby.

It was quite asleep, at that moment at least, its eyes wrenched shut and hands balled into tiny fists. Its arms and legs stuck out at awkward angles that didn’t seem quite correct. They didn’t align with the joints and bones of the human body, because it wasn’t even really fully human yet - not fully formed, still very… soft.

Widowmaker distantly remembered from some briefing package that the man had had a child recently, too much so to cancel the plans which had called him away from home, and the mother was now dead from complications. This was why the security was particularly tight, tonight - why the omnic staff were triple their normal number, as well. Not that he would have trusted any of _them_ around his child.

This, though, was the reason for it all. This tiny infant, so small, so fragile. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from it.

Widowmaker’s breath made no progress, holding perfectly. No inhaling, no exhaling. She held entirely still, eyes fixed on the tiny figure which seemed to grow to overtake her world. It swelled until it filled her vision - or her vision shrank in until it neatly encapsulated the child, either way - and all she heard were the tiny grunts from its mouth and the wet sounds of its breathing, and all she saw were the twitches in its face and the rise and fall of its chest, and all she smelled were the faint scents of the oils and powders which kept it comfortable.

For an interminable moment, an eternal instant, her world was _eclipsed_ by this child.

This tiny child. This weak infant. This frail thing, barely born, barely alive, so very close to death, so soft, so small. It was the dimmest flickering candle - it would have been snuffed out even by accident.

There was some motion deep within her, something trying to come forth - a memory trying to claw its way back to the surface, but it was pointless because the memory was already there. She had no problem recalling the _memory,_ it was the _emotion_ which was lacking now.

She could recall easily how desperately hopeful she’d been, once, but she was not hopeful anymore. She could recall how distraught she’d been, but she was not distraught _anymore._ It was not the _memory_ with which she had any issue.

The child could have died by accident. Even without outside intervention - even without its life _being_ ended, it might end regardless. So very close to life, so very close to death.

She wasn’t sure when her grip on the Kiss changed, when it tightened. She first noticed it when the infant made a louder-than-normal noise, though, and her eyes shot to the speaker grille of its monitor. If it made a fuss, if it awoke, they would come in. They would interrupt the mission. If the child made a noise too loudly, the house would be alerted to their presence.

She wasn’t sure when the rifle raised, seemingly of its own volition - she still hadn’t breathed, and thought distantly that it had been quite a long time even for her, but she couldn’t bring herself to force it. Didn’t seem to be in full control of her body as her head tipped over until it met the butt-stock of the Kiss.

She wasn’t sure why she bothered looking down the scope. She couldn’t possibly _miss_ from this range and the magnification was pointless anyway, she only _looked_ through her other eye, open, unmagnified, fixed still on the child. She felt the trigger underneath her finger; it was such a fine thing. The barest hair of movement would activate it, and her finger held it just short - just the tiniest fraction of movement short of a gunshot which would end it all. The stealth, the mission.

The child.

If it spoke up, the mission would be over. The security would be upon them in a moment if the child became irate, _or_ if they heard the rifle.

Perhaps a gunshot would be overkill, when suffocation would be soundless.

A hand grabbed her arm. _“Chica._ Can you hear me?”

Like that, it was over - she could move again, no longer entranced by the infant; Widowmaker looked over to Sombra with a frown, the breath leaving her in a sigh before she pulled in a deep lungful to replace it and sate her complaining chest. “What? You said nothing.”

“I-” Sombra’s eyes flicked to the crib as she swallowed. “I’ve been talking for a bit, _amiga,_ it’s- look, never mind, alright? We can get out of here. I got the stuff.”

Widowmaker nodded, emptily, something echoing deep inside of her - she felt like a bell, hollow, old and dusty in some clock tower that hadn’t rung for _years,_ but now something deep within the tower had made some noise that resonated within her chamber. Some distant memory of the sounds she was once supposed to make - a rock falling, echoed within the hull of a bell.

It wasn’t a toll, it wasn’t a ring, it wasn’t a peal. It wasn’t what a bell was meant to do, the sound it was meant to make, but she could _remember_ the noises that had once been made. She knew how the bell was _supposed_ to work. It just didn’t, anymore, and that seemed so… wrong.

Sombra tugged at her arm once more - when had she turned away to look at the baby again? She couldn’t recall, but the hacker looked startled at best. _“Chica,_ come on,” she pleaded, her eyes dropping from Widowmaker’s face to something lower. “We can go. Don’t- just,” she sounded almost frantic, but kept her voice to a tiny whisper, “just please _don’t_ , okay? Please?”

Widowmaker frowned, following the hacker’s gaze - to her own hands, clutching the rifle, aiming it again at the child. Barrel less than a foot from its head. Her finger was tense on the trigger. She looked back to Sombra’s worried face, shaking her head slightly. _“Non,_ no, I-”

Her hands didn’t want to move, again - she didn’t like it, but she couldn’t seem to find frustration within herself. It was like a dream, or what she could remember of dreams; she was herself but she was not herself, she was there but she was not there. She couldn’t move her hands, couldn’t seem to speak anymore - couldn’t do anything but stare back into Sombra’s eyes and shake her head and frown, and feel the tension of the trigger underneath her finger.

Sombra’s hand dropped from her shoulder to her hand - her other went to the barrel of the Kiss, shifting it slowly to the side and breaking the spell. Anybody else would have been killed for touching the rifle without explicit permission, and not killed _kindly,_ either, but Sombra was an exception and Widowmaker didn’t fight the movements. Her hand dropped away from the forestock to interlace fingers with Sombra - they were so warm, _she_ was so warm.

“C’mon, _amiga,”_ Sombra whispered, squeezing at Widowmaker’s hand which felt even colder than normal. “Let’s go.”

 

\---

 

Neither of them spoke until they were on a rooftop two blocks away, out of range and out of danger - they’d locked the door again behind themselves, they’d closed the windows through which they’d made their entries, and they’d done so in total silence. No alarms and also no words, not a mention between them.

Now, Sombra stood behind Widowmaker on the rooftop, fear roiling in her gut. The assassin still looked… off. She seemed distant, and she wasn’t talking.

Neither was Sombra, admittedly. She was a little too afraid of what might happen. What answers she might get if she started asking questions.

If anything, the worst part was that Widowmaker hadn’t looked angry - she hadn’t looked cruel or happy or even really flat the way she often did, staring in at that baby. She’d just looked...

...off. Somehow.

Sombra tried to say something but the words died in her throat - Widowmaker was standing on the very edge of the rooftop, her toes hanging over the edge as she stared off toward the moon.

 _“Chica._ What happened back there?”

Widowmaker sighed heavily, seeming to lean forward for half a second before turning on heel and stepping over to Sombra. She grabbed one of her hands, twirled, tugged the hacker gently down to the roof so they sat with Sombra in Widowmaker’s lap, the sniper’s arms encircling her. In the front, their hands were clasped tightly together.

They weren’t much for emotional displays or sharing, either of them - Widowmaker found them difficult and frustrating, and Sombra found them awkward and unsettling, so it worked out perfectly well for them to generally leave that alone and stick to teasing and sarcasm. Both of them had come to realize, though, that there needed to be something. Some openness, some honesty in there somewhere.

Usually the genuine emotion was left to their hands. A silent reminder that they were _there_ , that neither one was leaving the other. Come hell, high water, bullets or whatever else. Occasionally, though, some more sentiment would slip out in speech.

It didn’t happen often.

“We wanted a child, you know.”

Widowmaker’s words almost died on the wind, even though her lips were only a few inches away from Sombra’s ear - the hacker tried to turn but it was impossible with how tightly the sniper held her, so she returned her head to the front and just looked up at the moon. “Huh? I don’t know what you’re talking about, _amiga_. A child? What, you and…”

Her gut did lurch a little as she realized she’d forgotten the guy’s name. Maybe she wouldn’t have been a huge fan of him, probably, but he still deserved a little better than having his name forgotten.

 _“Gérard,”_ Widowmaker provided softly, her chin resting on Sombra’s shoulder. “Yes. He and I, we- oh, we tried for _so_ long, _cherie…”_

She let out a long, slow sigh, slumping forward and resting all of her weight against Sombra’s back, against her shoulder. She could feel the slight bumps of the hacker’s implants along the spine through the fabric of her jacket, and it was a pleasant reminder alongside her warmth. Slow developments of months of trial and error, resulting in a comfortable norm being established. Even if tonight she seemed to be dead-set on disturbing that norm. Even if, tonight, her lips seemed to be dedicated on the idea of talking.

Their hands remained interlinked.

“Years, in fact.” Her eyes lifted up to the moon and she shook her head slightly. She wasn’t certain why she was recounting this story, except for the fact that something deep inside her told her she should. Something deep inside which echoed up through her hollow self until it sounded almost something like a bell, but not quite. Still distorted, still different, never again to be what it once was.

“They told us it was unlikely. They never _said_ we were fools,” the sniper laughed lightly, “but they did not need to _say_ it. _Gérard_ had a medical concern, and they told me that a Ballerina’s body was no place for a child. A hostile, inhospitable environment, they said, yes. Ha!”

She dropped her head, nuzzling into the warmth of the crook of Sombra’s neck, frowning heavily. The hacker was ever so warm, she always was, and she shared it so freely. Despite her greed, she was incredibly generous at times. When it counted. “How ironic that my body should have changed, then, into what it is now. They thought me hostile and inhospitable _before?”_

The sniper broke off into laughter which was just slightly chilling to Sombra, but that happened sometimes. A consideration of being with her - sometimes, Widowmaker said things to which the gut response was being a little horrified. Sombra had learned to quell the instinct, a little at least. Temper it.

“Nonetheless,” Widowmaker continued softly, “we tried. Despite their warnings and cautions, despite them telling us we should not get up our hopes. For years and years, through medical appointments and treatments - whenever our tired schedules permitted, of course.”

Sombra held as still as she could, but couldn’t stop herself from nodding, couldn't stop herself from shifting her head a little, rubbing back at Widowmaker’s cheek and face. Couldn’t stop herself from squeezing at the assassin’s hands. She had no idea why her _chica_ was feeling talkative all of a sudden, but it was such a relief after the silence that she didn’t care. They were both there, that was all that mattered - whatever Widowmaker wanted to say was fine by her.

“He wanted it… _so_ much,” Widowmaker sighed with a faint smile on her lips, images of her former husband flicking through her mind - him proposing, him at the wedding, him at the hospital, him slain in bed, his eyes, his smile, the way he would look at her. “He wanted to give me what I desired, a child; he wanted it for himself as well. Between the two, I believe that… he desired a child more than I, even.”

Once more, Widowmaker sighed - this one low and heavy, half a groan that sounded as tired as any rusty bridge creaking under weight. Her words, when she spoke, almost blended in to the background noise of the city they were so soft.

“That is why I never told him, you see. It was so unlikely - a Ballerina’s body is no place for a child. It was so unlikely to stay, so unlikely to hold… so I never did tell him.”

Sombra nodded at first, but stopped and frowned as the words really filtered through into her consciousness. Hadn’t Widowmaker been talking about how they _couldn’t_ have a kid? “Wait,” she murmured, “what?”

“I never told him,” Widowmaker repeated with a shake of her head. “I could not - what if the child failed? Miscarriage is common for the first pregnancy, moreso with a woman in certain circumstance, a Ballerina, with the stresses on body and mind, time and energy. What if the child failed? He-” she wrapped Sombra up a little tighter in her embrace, “he wanted it _so_ much, _cherie,_ I think he needed it toward the end. It would have hurt him so greatly if the child had not survived to the birth.”

Sombra tried to turn around again, to look at Widowmaker’s face, but once more the sniper held her in place to look only forward. Only away and up to the moon. She didn’t know what to _say,_ though, to the knowledge that apparently Widowmaker - or, rather, Amélie - had become pregnant despite the odds.

The sniper took part of a breath and held it. Her heart was beating oddly fast for this all. Still a pale reflection of what _life_ would have been like, but a noticeable and notable difference. Sombra was so warm in her arms; so _alive,_ so different than she was, though, and perhaps…

…perhaps there was something there.

“So you see, this is why I never told him.” Her lips carried on without her instruction, without her oversight; she didn’t think about them, didn’t choose to form words, her only thoughts were just how empty and pointless it all was. She had almost killed an infant and hadn’t felt a thing about it, and she didn’t feel a thing about it _now_.

About any of it.

Past or present, about either child, and what was bothering her about it was that she _should_ be feeling _something_ about it.

At the very least, _somebody_ should.

Still, her lips continued. “It was good that I did not, though. He would have been ravaged if the child faltered by happenstance - to know that it was destroyed during my capture? My captivity? On top of all of that?” She laughed, lightly, softly, with empty brightness to the moon. “I would not have needed to slay him - he would already have been destroyed by that knowledge alone, ha!”

Sombra’s eyes stretched wide as a cold lump sank from her heart to her gut before spreading slowly through her veins. She replayed the words in her head, repeated them, desperately trying to find some other meaning. Hoping that they could have been something other than the truth.

“W-” she whispered, the word catching in a suddenly dry mouth. “What? You were… you were pregnant. When Talon took you.”

“Oh yes,” Widowmaker nodded against the side of her neck, sounding for all the world as if she was confirming an order at a drive-through or plans for dinner.

“Not greatly.” Widowmaker shrugged. “Only a few weeks, but- ah,” she smiled, raising her eyes to the skies, “ah, I was so excited for it. He would have been too. _So_ excited. But you see, I could not tell him. What if the child failed? It was so likely, and I could not do that to him. I planned to inform him when I entered the second trimester, when it was more stable, yes, but I never did make it that far.”

Sombra found that her lungs didn’t want to work, as Widowmaker readjusted slightly behind her - as the sniper set the point of her chin on Sombra’s shoulder, the hacker couldn’t take a breath in and couldn’t let one out. She was frozen, wholly, stuck in horror.

Widowmaker, not knowing the _reasons_ behind Sombra's silence, continued speaking with a shrug. _“Alors,_ it is just as well, perhaps. A Ballerina’s body is no place for a child - they all said as much. It would likely have failed anyway, even were it not for the stresses during my… _internment._ ” She half-growled the word, but that only made it worse, because she could be frustrated about _that._

Even if she now loved what she had become, she could still be _frustrated_ over what had been done to her - the way she had been taken and broken and reforged.

Yet, she could not manage the same for the infant.

Perhaps it was because she had never known it; because she had always half-expected, even while her heart hoped desperately otherwise, that it would fail and miscarry and die. She had always thought it would.

She had only ever _dreamed_ that it would make it to birth.

Yet, still, she could manage no frustration over it. No feelings of loss. Whatever had echoed through her in that room, facing the baby in the crib - it was gone now. She felt only Sombra’s warmth, her hands in her hands.

Nothing for the child she’d never known.

It felt so wrong for there to be no feelings of loss, and Sombra was so near and so alive, Widowmaker knew what she needed to do. She let out a sigh, shaking her head and burying her face in Sombra’s shoulder. Her eyes were entirely dry, entirely unaffected, and it just seemed _wrong._ “Would you… cry for me, _cherie?_ Please. I cannot for myself.”

“Way ahead of you, _chica,”_ Sombra whispered, barely. Forcing the words out through a strained throat as tears streamed down her cheeks.

Something warm fell on the sniper's hand, slid down the side of it - a drop, a tear, and Widowmaker’s smile widened slightly. “Ah. _Merci, cherie._ I-” she sighed swiftly. “I only mention it because…” she squeezed Sombra a little tighter as the hacker sobbed, once, roughly. “I felt guilty about it, angry about it, sad about it, when I was returned, but I do not anymore. I do not feel… _anything,_ about it, anymore, and I do not know what that means but…” she looked up at the moon, softly shaking her head. “It does not seem _fair.”_

Sombra felt like she might rip in half from the pain in her chest. She shook her head, dripping tears from her chin. “It’s not,” she sobbed. “Not fucking fair at all. And I-” she choked off for a second in a squeak, coughed to clear her throat and continue, “-and I don’t mean the feelings.”

She meant all the rest of it. The way Widowmaker had been taken, everything that had been done to her - it had gone unspoken between them, and Sombra wasn’t even sure Widowmaker actually _knew_ that she knew about it all.

Even though she was glad that Widowmaker was here, now, she still hated everything that had happened along the way, and it wasn’t fair at all.

Widowmaker hummed a single laugh, squeezing Sombra a little bit tighter. “I know you don’t, _ma cherie._ Still… it seems _right_ , that somebody should hurt over this. I can not, Gérard can not-”

“Trust me _chica_ I’m hurting enough for both of you,” Sombra strained, her shoulders shaking with the force of her sorrow. Generally, on most days, she carefully tried not to think about what had led Widowmaker to Talon - had led them _together._ Tried not to think about it because, for all the horror, she sure as hell didn’t want Widowmaker to be anywhere _else,_ and she had to carry that guilt if she started thinking about it.

Adding one more weight onto the pile didn’t make it any easier to bear. Sombra sobbed desperately, trying to expel all of the horror at this new revelation - trying to exile all of the guilt and anguish she felt over the fact that, despite it all, despite everything Widowmaker had been through, Sombra still was kind of glad that it had happened.

She was angry about it, too. Furious, in fact, when she thought about it - and she had no option save for to think about it right now, all of the thoughts conglomerating and manifesting in rough cries and shaky sobs that wracked her, as she just tried to get it all _out._

“I can see that,” Widowmaker murmured softly, leaning her head on Sombra’s shoulder again. _“Merci, ma cherie,_ this-” she cut off, unable to express her gratitude. If she couldn't express the anguish to begin with, she could hardly hope to express the gratitude for fixing the problem - yet, still, she knew she needed to try, so she did. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Sombra croaked, barely, almost incapable of words.

Finally, Widowmaker slacked her embrace - permitted Sombra to spin around and collapse, wrapping her arms around the sniper’s body and burying her face properly and ceasing any effort to control her agony. She wasn’t sure she could have if she wanted to, and she didn’t cry often at all. In the year they’d been together, she only had twice: the first time, she'd been actively dying at the time, and the second was on Christmas day out of shock as much as anything else.

This put them both to shame, entirely. It wasn’t a common event, to cry, and Sombra wasn’t practiced at controlling it the way she was everything else. It wasn’t tailored and neat and intentional - her cries were rough and ragged, raw, unpolished and unadultered. There was crying, and then there was ugly crying, and far, far, _far_ beyond that was the unfettered display of anguish which Sombra fell into then.

Throughout it, Widowmaker looked up at the moon and smiled. She had been thinking, once, in a different life, of naming the child _Luna._ It was a nice name.

She stroked at the back of Sombra’s hair, whispered and murmured her thanks, constantly. Every time, Sombra returned them; she was greedy, yes, when it came to herself. Widowmaker was learning, though, that when it came to others - when it came to her friends, those she valued and liked - Sombra could be the most generous person in the world.

Freely sharing her grief, that same which Widowmaker could no longer grasp or provide, herself - but little Luna deserved some grief. Or all the grief in the world.

For what it was worth - and that was quite a lot, at least in Widowmaker’s estimation - Sombra seemed to be trying to give that. All the grief in the world.

Widowmaker just sat, and held her, and stroked fingers through her warm hair. Kissed at her head and breathed with her nose pressed up against Sombra’s scalp as the hacker shook and trembled with sobs and cries, and Widowmaker began to feel almost as if she could soak that in somehow.

It wasn’t the toll of a bell. It was some echo of the same, though.

 

\---

 

It took a very long time for Sombra to be finished. Longer even than Widowmaker expected, for which she was quite grateful, but eventually she was done and fell quiet, curled up in the sniper’s lap.

Fell _asleep_ , Widowmaker suspected at first, but after a few minutes of silence Sombra disproved that by speaking.

“...you-” her voice was raw and cracking, it sounded swollen and thick and when she cleared her throat it came out sounding very pained and more like a heavy swallow than a cough, but clear her throat she did, and continued. “You still wanna watch that movie?”

Widowmaker laughed, lightly, brightly, shaking her head - all this and Sombra still wanted to watch her movies, foolish girl. Tonight, though, Widowmaker would not begrudge her a thing. “After what you have given me,” she shook her head softly, stroking at Sombra’s head in her lap, “I owe you whatever you would have.”

Sombra looked up, shaking her head sharply. “No. No, _amiga,_ you-” she cut off in a sore-sounding laugh, wiping a hand across her cheek. “I know I’m gonna regret this, heh, but you don’t owe me anything. Not a fucking thing. Ever. Okay?”

The assassin didn’t nod, didn’t respond, not at first - she only looked back at the foolish purple girl and wondered how far that assurance would go. She was quite sure she didn’t want to find out, though, and it didn’t matter anyway. She had no desire to test it. She already knew that Sombra was generous when it truly counted.

“I would like to watch a movie,” she whispered in the still moonlight.

“Cool,” Sombra croaked back with a nod and a chuckle. “Let’s get the fuck out of here then. I can show you my place…”

 

\---

 

They did watch the movie, though neither of them cared much about it; by that point, the movie had ceased to have much in the way of power for defining the evening. What continued to be the most important, though, were their hands - clasped together as they sat on the couch in one of Sombra’s many safehouses - and the warm tears which occasionally, even then, trickled down off of Sombra’s cheeks.

Every time one dropped onto Widowmaker’s skin, she smiled, just slightly, and would squeeze at Sombra’s hands.

It was, all in all, quite a fulfilling night.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, there we are with that! The node of this story - Amélie and Gérard's wish for a child, and eventual pregnancy to no avail - occurred to me in another context, for another story, but they didn't work well there. Still, I liked the idea of Widowmaker asking Sombra to cry for her; desiring some form of closure on the matter but feeling like it was beyond her reach alone.
> 
> So, I quite liked this. I hope you did too! Have a good day, folks!


End file.
